My name is not important, for most people don’t bother asking it. Instead, they call me “that ugly dog.” I see it in their faces: the way their eyes widen when they first look at me, the quick glances they exchange, and the way they try to avoid getting too close. My crooked teeth stick out awkwardly, and my snout is a little off-center. My fur is patchy, and scars from a life spent on the streets mar my skin. I know I’m not beautiful in the way other dogs are, and sometimes I wonder…
“Does my ugliness make you feel disgusted or uncomfortable?”
I didn’t choose to look like this. Once, when I was a small puppy, I had a family. They called me “cute” and played with me every day. But as I grew older, my face became less like the adorable puppies you see in magazines, and more like… well, this. One day, they took me to the park, tied me to a bench, and left. I waited for hours, thinking they’d come back. But they never did.
Living on the streets was hard. Other dogs avoided me, and people shooed me away. I scavenged for scraps in garbage bins, often going days without eating. On rainy nights, I’d curl up under a broken box, shivering, wishing someone would see past my face and give me a chance.
One day, I wandered into a crowded park. I was so hungry and tired that I sat down near a family having a picnic, hoping they might drop a piece of bread. Instead, their little girl screamed when she saw me. Her parents pulled her away and said, “Don’t touch that dog. He’s ugly and dirty.” My heart broke, and I ran away, wishing I could disappear.
But deep inside, I dream of love. I imagine having a human who doesn’t care about how I look, someone who sees my wagging tail and kind heart instead of my crooked teeth. I imagine sitting by their side on quiet evenings, feeling their hand stroke my fur gently, hearing them whisper, “Good boy.” I know I could be a good dog if only someone gave me a chance.
I’ve heard people say that beauty is only skin deep. But why does it feel like my appearance defines my worth? I don’t mean to make people uncomfortable. I don’t mean to scare children or make strangers avoid me. I just want to be loved. Is that too much to ask?
So, I’ll keep waiting. I’ll sit by the road and wag my tail every time someone passes, hoping today will be the day someone stops and sees the real me. Until then, I’ll ask myself over and over:
“Does my ugliness make you feel disgusted or uncomfortable? Or can you see the love I have to give?”
If you’re reading this, I hope you’ll look at animals like me differently. Beneath the scars and imperfections, there’s a heart that beats with loyalty and a soul longing for connection. I may not be perfect, but I promise, if you choose me, I’ll love you with everything I have.
I may not be beautiful, but I am worthy. And I hope someday, someone will see that.
